


so this is now

by kwritten



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, ginny/cho, multi fandom ficlets, raven/bellamy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 10:25:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7614493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwritten/pseuds/kwritten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a bunch of unrelated, multi-fandom ficlets written for prompts on tumblr</p><p>ch1: btvs gen (joyce, giles, faith, buffy)<br/>ch2: hp f/f (ginny/cho, hermione, lavender)<br/>ch3: t100 m/f (raven/bellamy)<br/>ch4: btvs gen (buffy/tara, dawn, faith)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the rough around the edges daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: Buffy AU where Faith never sided with the mayor.  
> feat: Buffy, Faith, Joyce, Giles

“What do you mean, another Slayer?” Joyce’s eyebrows lifted nearly into her hairline and Rupert fought the urge to smooth them down with her thumb. As if that motion would somehow send all the demons back to hell and turn Buffy into a normal girl. 

Then he thought about explaining how even a few /seconds/ of death could Call another Chosen One. 

Instead he shrugged and took another long drink from the glass of wine she had put in his hand, “Mistake, I imagine. It happens from time to time.”

Joyce chewed on her lip and he knew what was going through her head, another Slayer might mean college for Buffy a Normal Life for Buffy an end to this new crazy world and a chance to escape. He wanted to agree with her or stop her or something, but he said nothing. 

He was known to say the wrong thing anyway, in times like these. 

“What’s…” Joyce cleared her throat. “Where did she come from?”

Rupert thought of the girl described to him on the phone by his colleagues across the pond - a girl raised on the streets, in homes, a girl raised to be No One and Nothing. A sacrificial lamb, running from the vampire that killed her Watcher. 

“A bit rough around the edges, I imagine.”

Joyce caught his gaze and her eyes narrowed and he knew in that moment that she’d seen right through him and would make the /right/ decision. The motherly one, the caring one, the compassionate one. 

He’d tell her not to, but instead he took another sip of wine and pretended to be shocked along with everyone else a bit later. 

 

*******

 

“Now I want you two girls to /promise/ me to stick together, I don’t care what Mr. Giles said about *divide and conquer* and before you go, Faith put that sweater in the kitchen sink to soak or that stain will never come out, and /don’t even think/ that I’ve forgotten about that message I got from the guidance counselor this morning,” Joyce thrust Buffy’s lucky crossbow into her hands and smoothed a loose hair back behind Faith’s ear. “I’ll keep the pizza warm for when you get back.”

Out on the front walk Faith snorted, “You’d think a demon hoard would at least be slightly more important than a bad PE grade.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, “Let’s just hope we’re bloody enough when she comes home that she forgets about that History exam.”


	2. of course your cat is judging you, you're an idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ginny/Cho "it started with an argument"  
> Featuring: Ginny, Cho, Hermione, Lavender  
> (Harry mentioned but never present)

She’s crying in the hallway, with mascara running down her face and skinned knees because maybe she was pushed and maybe she fell and it could almost be enough to say 

_this is the end, you know. of you and me and this hallway and these tears on my face._

But there’s a scar over Cho’s right eyebrow and there’s a burn mark that runs along Ginny’s right thigh that says

_this is just one stop on a road we can’t travel alone._

* * *

 

*

 

“How’s Gin,” Cho asks over beers and Hermione shrugs. 

“Fine, I guess. You gonna finish that,” and then steals the last of Cho’s warm beer with a grimace. “Next round’s on me.”

“How’s Harry,” Cho asks over the arm of the waiter taking their empty bottles away. 

“Fine, I guess. Let’s get the second round another time,” and then darts out the door to be somewhere better with someone who knows more than two questions to ask. 

 

*

 

Fingers are the most delicate instrument. Cho’s are thin and strong, they can twist the lid off a jar like it’s nothing. Ginny’s are short and freckled, they can put out a candle when the flame is too low. 

Together, all twined and perfect, they don’t look out of place but they don’t look _in_  place and that’s disturbing in a way that haunts them both. 

They’d never say it out loud.

 

*

 

“How’s Cho,” Ginny whispers and Lavender shrugs.

“Like whatever, this place sucks can we go?” and she’s tugging Ginny’s arm and then they’re at a new bar and Lavender is batting her eyes at the bartender. 

“Hey,” she sucks down something neon pink, “How’s Harry anyhow?”

Ginny shrugs and wishes she had an answer to the only question anyone ever asks. 

 

*

 

“Stop! Fucking Merlin’s _Fuck_ , Cho!”

Cho turns bright red and whirls around on Ginny, eyes flashing, “Like who told you to sprawl out all over the floor anyway, Weasley? Where the fuck am I supposed to walk?”

“Oh _boo fucking hoo_  I lean down for two seconds...”

“You did NOT just say...”

“... to tie my shoe and then my head...”

“.... what I think you just said you have....”

“.... is covered in ink like what are you doing...”

“.... a bizarre kind of death....”

“.... milking a goddamn squid during your...”

“.... wish!”

“.... free hours?!”

Hermione rolls her eyes, waves her wand over Ginny’s hair, and hands Cho her bottle of (squid?) ink and saunters off. The two girls grin awkwardly at each other. 

 

*

 

There’s a single candle in the squished cupcake she bought at the convenience store beneath her apartment. Cho squints down at it, tries to forget that it came in a plastic wrapper. 

But it’s too fucking depressing and she’s just about had enough of this. 

Twenty-eight should be celebrated in a bar with her _girlfriend_ , not alone with a non-brand cupcake that’s probably been sitting on the dusty counter since before the War. She throws the (still-lit) candle and cupcake into the sink and rinses it all down the drain. 

The black cat that Ginny brought home off the street judges her silently as she gathers up her coat and keys, but she doesn’t say anything. Because she talks to her cat enough as it is, let’s not make this day worse. 

She’s tromping down the sidewalk towards the bus depot and there’s a warning bell or something going off in her head telling her to turn back and just go home and she tries to ignore it but just a few meters away turns to look up at her own window. 

Maybe she was looking for a sign. 

“Happy Birthday asshole,” Ginny says with a smirk. Standing outside her apartment and looking too damn hot in skinny jeans and heels and her hair is longer - is it longer? - holding a pink pastry box. 

“I hate you,” Cho breathes. 

And it’s the most honest either of them have ever been.   
(Maybe sometimes you have to start over because the beginning just didn’t cook long enough. Or maybe there’s no such thing as endings.)

 


	3. she really does know what she wants, she swears it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: raven/bellamy friends with benefits  
> featuring: raven, bellamy

What she wants is his hand on her hip when she’s falling asleep, the scent of his sweat sticking to her thighs, the memory of his laugh fresh on her lips. What she doesn’t want is his hair tickling her ear in the moment before she wakes up, the scent of his special pancakes in the morning, his shoes having a special place on her floor. 

What she wants is ridiculous snapchats of his sister and the coffee he made and his dog hoarding a pile of socks, weird text-messages that are properly spelled and correctly punctuated, fresh historical knowledge slipping into her mind because he put it there. What she doesn’t want is a set date every Thursday night, dinner with his mother, the awkward key-exchange, the fighting over dirty dishes and un-folded laundry and improper sorting of the recycling. 

What she wants is his lips on hers. 

So she kisses him. 

(She’ll figure the rest out tomorrow maybe.)


	4. this is weird dare, even for us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: btvs, buffy becomes immortal  
> featuring: buffy, dawn, tara, faith

Dawn looked down at the ax her sister had just put in her hand and shook her head, “You aren’t serious.” She turned to Tara in hopes of some sanity, “She’s not .... she’s joking right?”

“It’s perfectly safe,” Tara said in her best _i’m your mom now don’t question me there are brownies in the oven and therefore my word is law_ voice. 

“Nope,” Dawn turned back to her sister. Generally Buffy wasn’t the most... _mature_  person in the house. But come on. This was a joke. “I’m not going to do it.”

“I did,” Faith said lazily from the couch, where she was sprawled out, flipping casually through _People_. Even though Dawn was _sure_ she didn’t know who eighty percent of the people even were. 

Buffy and Tara nodded. 

“I’m going to need therapy after this,” Dawn warned as she raised the ax over her head. 

Faith snorted, “Kid. You are a thousand-or-something-year-old-green-blob. Don’t we have a therapist for you on staff? Like... just for you?” She looked up at Buffy, brows knit together in confusion. “Tell me the little mini-you has a fucking therapist.”

Buffy blushed and Tara raised herself up a little taller.   
They maybe had talked about this recently and didn’t .... _exactly_  agree. 

Dawn was pretty tired of the whole conversation and so she closed her eyes and swung before she could talk herself out of it or before any of her sisters said anything else about her being green. Strangely enough, it was her least favorite topic of conversation. 

When she opened her eyes, Buffy’s head was rolling around on the ground and everything in the world titled. 

“ _I WAS AIMING FOR HER ARM_ ,” she shrieked. 

She’d done it. She’d really killed her sister. The almighty Chosen One. Felled by her teen sister on a dare during game night. 

Buffy’s body leaned over, one arm snatching her head off the ground by the top of her hair and suddenly Dawn was face to face with Buffy’s disembodied face. 

“Pretty freakin’ cool, huh?” Buffy asked excitedly. 

And then she blacked out. 


End file.
